The Hard Part...

This blog entry is potentially the hardest to write. It's about a very special kind of nothing. Not even the absence of something. Just nothing. If it's about a feeling, then what is this feeling? Apprehension? Not really. Ennui? Partly. Excitement? Oddly, yes. Being at a loose end? Closer, but not quite. 

Ask ChatGPT to wax lyrical about the time between locking in your first set and playing your first EMOM slot, and it will describe the electric thrill that crackles through you, the anticipation and apprehension that bubble up from your very soul. It reads like Paul Morley at his flowery worst, circa whenever you like (he always writes like that).

But ChatGPT is an idiot. Artificial stupidity. The feeling is best summed up in one word: waiting. And there's no known cure.

Right now, there's no real need to compose anything, no need to arrange anything, or to produce anything. Or any real reason to design new sounds. The set is done. This is the music that will be played live for a few months now. All that's left is to rehearse to keep the muscle memory warm. Seven synth parts over four songs is a lot for an idiot like me to remember, and all the notes have to be in the right order. I must make Mr Preview proud...

But in that calm before the storm comes the almost overwhelming urge to open the DAW and tinker with something. That old track that never really worked could be a fixer-upper project, maybe something that will find its way into the set later in the year.

And as I tinker, I realise something quite remarkable. I realise that I now know much more about our sound than I did when I wrote that track. What's wrong with it is obvious. A bit of work, and suddenly it sounds magnificent. It deserves to go in the set NOW. But there's no space. An EMOM set is 15 minutes long, and ours is already bursting at the seams. Any longer is discourteous to the organisers, the audience, and the other performers. I don't want to be THAT guy.

Then confirmation of the first gig comes through. We're playing at the Captain's Bar in Hanley, Stoke-On-Trent on Thursday 28th December. At last, a solid date to focus on, even though in early December it still feels like months away.

 The agony of waiting intensifies. Libby's OK. She's patiently waiting on disc to lead us both into battle, but the human side of the band is crawling the walls to get on with it. It's easy to see how rock stars turn to drugs between tours. I must be near my people. To misquote Withnail, there must and shall be EMOM!

Cut to yet another scene of me trudging up the hill to the train station for another frosty trip into Manchester, this time to attend BLEEP #12 at the Peer Hat on Faraday Street.

A friend in tow, work commitments mean leaving at the ridiculously early time of 9pm, so we'll have to miss half the acts, but I need my fix. I need it so bad, I'm marching down Dale Street through plumes of marijuana smoke and buzzed out students, oblivious to the taxi that nearly runs me over.

Nestled down the side of the Manchester Police Museum, Faraday Street is a forbidding place at the best of times, garlanded as it is by layers of graffiti. By day, it looks like the kind of deserted city street The Double Deckers would have been frantically chased down by a youthful Melvin Hayes back in the day. By night, it is best described as sinister.

The Peer Hat is famous amongst regular BLEEP attendees for having next to no lighting on the stairs down to the performance space. What's more, the door at the bottom of the stairs opens outwards, so anyone carrying two pints of beer back from the bar is guaranteed a fun time if someone opens the door just as you fumble for the handle with a free finger.

Guess who was already there when we arrived? Go on. Guess. Dave Walker, of course! The very next evening he played live at the blackpool EMOM, streamed live, along with the likes of the sainted Martin Christie, and the mighty Dots. You can stream the whole excellent evening here.

Being nearly Christmas, many regulars were notable by their absence, so the crowd was sparse. The evening was also late getting started, but when it did, we were treated to diverse yet danceable sets by Voxish, Franc, No shapes and Deepreal. 

Voxish hard at work on sonic disturbance

 

 Franc - with a nonchalant hand in pocket, making it all look easy

 

 

No Shapes getting heavy on the bass

        Deepreal was bopping so much his head was a blur in every picture

9pm came and it was time to go. I glanced back and saw Heaton Norris Light Vessel Automatic setting up. Sometimes, you just HAVE to know what an act sounds like because of its name, and after finding him online, I can heartily recommend his smooth blend of electronica, reminiscent of Tangerine Dream at their very, very 1970s best.

Skip forwards a couple of weeks to another scene. It's Boxing Day. Christmas is nothing but a sprouty fart now. I've been up since 7am, rehearsing. What else is there to do?

My Brother-in-law asked me during Christmas lunch if I was nervous about Thursday. No. Not at all, which is probably the prelude to a massive pratfall. I feel excited to finally be getting on with it. And anyway, as I always say: dignity is overrated. 

So, no, I'm not nervous; I just ate a bad sprout yesterday...

What can possibly go wrong?